JIKOOK compilation

Take Out

By: wordcouture
Genre: smut
Posted on AO3
Words: 2503
Top jungkook
Bottom jimin
______________

Summary:
aka: just another oneshot in which jeon jungkook falls for a one night stand.

If Jungkook could grind all the scattered bits of Jimin’s laugh into powder and get high on the lines of his smile, he would be an unabashed addict, knees scraped open bleeding the kind of love that only those who swallow broken hearts can know. He would be tear tracks along which the trains of Jimin’s thought might run, on a day when the sky is the color of a fading bruise, along the horizon line of Jimin’s neck and he dreams about skating down the vertebrae of Jimin’s spine on Achille’s shoes, with feathers borrowed from Icarus’s plume.

He swallows the torrent of words crashing against the roof of his mouth when Jimin asks him what he’s thinking (because he always asks, right after), their bodies side by side under the sticky sheet of summer nights. He turns his head to look, not knowing who he’d find there today because it’s a punch in the gut every single time—tonight, Jimin’s eyes are searchlights, but sometimes they are winter nights with the city streets decked out in Christmas lights, and sometimes they are ocean tides that fit the bay of his arms just right. He writes poetry, but not about Jimin, he writes poetry to the poem that is Jimin and he knows it’s dangerous to paint people into metaphors because people always change too much too fast too hard to stay just words but—

“We can get takeout, if you want,” he offers, his voice still scratchy from, well.

Jimin laughs, shifting onto his side to drape an arm around Jungkook’s middle, resting his chin in the dip of Jungkook’s shoulder. His breath feels heavy against Jungkook’s skin, condensing along his collarbones—he wants to ask Jimin to kiss it all back, so he could taste his own voice-box on the tip of Jimin’s tongue.

“I should get back—accounting exam tomorrow morning.”

Jungkook groans, curling his body around Jimin’s, fingers pressing into his hips, and they say 90% of human interaction is nonverbal so he lets the silence speak for him, bubbling around them like daydreams caught in a champagne bottle and Jungkook can getused to this.

“Don’t you have something tomorrow too?” Jimin asks, but he doesn’t move, only inches closer, fingers grazing the skin of Jungkook’s back.

Jungkook blows a breath out his mouth and pouts like a child. Jimin’s forehead is close enough to his lips for Jimin to feel, and he laughs. Jungkook’s body lights up in tiny tingles that dance beneath his skin with sparklers on their toes. He pulls Jimin closer, so that they are skin melting against skin and it’s still a little too hot for this much cuddling, but Jimin doesn’t pull away. He softens, hums into the negative space between his lips and Jungkook’s neck, leaning in to press a kiss there, letting his lips linger and linger and linger.

Jungkook’s fingers find the top of Jimin’s spine, tracing all the things he never had the courage to say into the space there, because maybe then Jimin will understand.

“One more hour,” Jungkook says, whispers like smoke over a forest fire burning in the pits of his stomach, on all the insecurities he’s ever let take root there. But Jimin comes in and lights every one on fire, dances in the flames with bare feet. And Jungkook wouldn’t call himself a pyromaniac but he might have bought tickets to Burning Man next year.

“Last time you said that, you kept me all night,” Jimin grins into Jungkook’s neck, nose nuzzling in and Jungkook tries not to read too much into the words he might be writing there.

“I didn’t hear you complaining, though,” Jungkook parries back, a self-satisfied smirk twitching across his lips. Jimin bites down on Jungkook’s collarbones if only to wipe it off his face and it works—it always does. Jungkook groans, body shaking at the sting, the contact, his toes curling and it’s incredible how much power Jimin holds just between his lips.